


Sentinel Senility

by Angelise (angelise7)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-10
Updated: 2001-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new family member proves a certain Sentinel has gone senile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentinel Senility

I have discovered the perfect way to test a Sentinel's senility. 

Get a cat. 

Now you know I'm a firm supporter of those in the Hardluck Club. All anyone has to do is let a tear slip or wobble their bottom lip and I'm there ready to help. 

Well, one of our neighbors belongs to that unfortunate club. Her wanton kitty, Gypsy Rose, got herself in the family way and presented poor Nancy with a litter of nine babies. I didn't even know about the blessed event until I met her in the elevator one day with the cutest, the tiniest kitten tucked in her arms. And yes, our neighbor is a professional member of the Hardluck Club. She had the best tearful lip wobbling act I've ever seen. 

So there I was . . . promising her that if by the time me and Jim got back from our camping trip she hadn't found a home for that little cutie, I would be more than happy to adopt the kitten. Now of course, I was absolutely positive that I would not have to follow through on my promise. The small tiger tabby was too cute not to be snatched up while I was gone. 

Would someone please slap me upside the head? Knock some sense into me! You know the moment those words left my lips, I had committed a horrible blunder. Nancy was in no way going on the hunt for another victim. She had snagged me. 

I waved goodbye, thinking I had done my good deed, even if that deed wouldn't see the light of day. I never in a million years thought of the possible consequences. 

Happy me went on that camping trip never knowing that I had just signed Jim and myself up for kitty fatherhood. If I had, I might have made the decision to hide out forever in them there hills. 

I will spare you the details of Jim's reaction when I arrived home with our child. I will also withhold the 87 lectures on Cat Care he blessed me with. And do I really need to tell how many times he smugly pointed out that the cat _and_ its litter box were mine and mine alone? 

You guys know Jim. I'm sure all you have to do is close your eyes and you can easily see and hear my Sentinel reminding me day after day of the enormous error in judgment I had committed. Jim loves to say 'I told you so' and if I had a dollar for each and every time he's said that since the kitten arrived, I would be giving Bill Gates a little competition in the millionaire bracket. 

Now the first test of my Sentinel's senility came with the naming of our baby. I was all for the kitten choosing his own name, ready to wait until a certain characteristic/behaviour became apparent and thereby identifying his inner spirit. But nooooo. The Great One said he was tired of calling the furry little bugger 'cat' and that it was time for me to stop this mystical search and just name the thing. 

Somehow I resisted the urge to slap the bejeebies out of my lover and sat down on the floor with the serious intent of naming our son. I started trying out different names, watching the sleeping kitten closely, hoping he would show some sign of approval if I managed to hit upon the right one. All of a sudden, he woke up and threw himself in the air, twirling around. Landing safely on his feet, he shook his head and looked at us. Once he had verified his safety, he laid down and promptly went back to sleep. 

Of course, my analytical mind went into overload and I almost missed the Sentinel mutterings going on behind me. 

"There ya go, Chief. Plain as day." 

I turned and looked at my lover, confusion clouding my handsome features. "Huh?" 

My beloved God of all that is Sexy leaned down and tapped me on the forehead, instilling me with almighty wisdom. 

"Do I have to explain everything, Sandburg?" Jim whirled his hand in the air. "Plain as day, babe. Tasmanian Devil." 

The kitten flew into another airborne fit. 

"Or should I say, Tasmanian Tornado." 

With that, Jim sat back, picked up his newspaper and hid what I'm sure was a most self-satisfied smirk. This time I didn't resist my carnal urges. As fast as lightening I tackled my smug Sentinel and fucked the daylights out of him. That'll teach him to be smart with me! 

As the months went by, our son, whose name was shortened to Taz, slowly invaded Jim's territory. And he did it with such stealth and sneakiness. My lover never realized he had been taken over by a four legged ball of fur. It even took me a while to understand my child had chosen to insinuate himself with the Alpha male of our home. 

All of a sudden, it wasn't my lap Taz was cuddling on; it was Jim's. Albeit the kitten was constantly but gently pushed away, it didn't take long for the Sentinel mind to understand it was fighting a losing battle. That's when the senility set it. 

Out of a nowhere an expensive kitty bed with built in warmer appeared besides ours. "Well, he can't sleep with us; we'd squash him. And the floors are too hard and cold." 

* _Yes, dear. Whatever you say, dear._ * 

And shall I mention the matching set of Garfield food and water bowls. "It's unsanitary to feed him out of a dirty old butter dish." 

* _Yes, dear. Of course dear. You're absolutely right, dear. What was I thinking!_ * 

Now . . . the sign that proved without a doubt that my Blessed Protector had indeed lost all active and functioning brain cells was when he started talking to the cat. 

Yep. You heard right. Jim has started holding intelligent conversations with Taz. I have repeatedly caught the two of them together in the bathroom going over the day's itinerary. My lover, of course, is doing all the talking, waving his razor in the air while Taz is on the sink trying to capture the towel that Jim throws around his shoulders when he shaves. 

Jim has even gone as far as making sure our son knows truck maintenance. I'm sure my jaw was on the ground when I arrived home from work the other day and found Jim explaining to Taz, who was precariously balanced on his shoulder, the art of changing the oil filter. He even went as far as to ask the cat his opinion of buying a new vehicle. I made the wise decision to leave them discussing the merits of SUVs versus trucks. It was either that or stand there laughing and die an early death. 

Taz has become so close to Jim that I am beginning to feel a little jealous. I know. I know . . . shame on me. But you just don't realize how close those two have become. That furry little monster is the first one greeted in the morning. I get a slobbery kiss and pat on the ass and _HE_ gets a smiling tickle and a belly rubdown. 

And do I need to tell you who gets fed first? My cup of coffee comes only after our wonderful child has been given his perfectly warmed bowl of food. Not to mention his portion of bottled water. And please forget the horrific notion that my Sentinel would feed our son the average run of the mill cat food. "Taz is a growing kitten. He needs the best, the most nutritious food to help him build strong muscles and bones." 

* _Yes, dear. I think you've lost your mind but whatever you want is fine with me, dear._ * 

Who am I to argue with a senile Sentinel? I may be dumb but I'm not that dumb. Even now, this very moment, I have irrefutable proof that my lover will soon be wearing the fashionable jacket that comes with a padded cell. 

It's Saturday night. Taz and Jim are snuggled on the couch sharing a beer and watching a Jags basketball game. Our son's attention is riveted on the shapes moving across the TV screen. How he manages to eat the turkey nibbles Jim is feeding him and keep up with the game is beyond me. 

I can't believe it. The man who 6 months ago was ready to drop our son down the garbage chute is sitting there, expounding on the wonders of the perfect slam dunk, with Taz curled up in his lap. 

I shake my head, expecting any second now to have the guys in the white jackets pounding on the door. I'll miss Jim but at least I'll finally have the chance to reacquaint myself with our son. Unless of course, Taz makes the decision to follow his father to the loony bin. In that case, I may just have to join them. 

I wonder . . . do those padded cells come with litter boxes? 

* * *

End

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is first dedicated to my beloved Taz, who we gave into the angels care quite some time ago. We love and miss you, Fuzzybutt.
> 
> I also dedicate this to my dad, who I swear during my childhood, was himself, a Sentinel. (me and my sis never got away with anything!) Taz and his charming ways proved without a doubt that my gray haired parent had indeed gone NUTS!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [You can find me on Tumblr!](http://angelise7.tumblr.com/)


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